


Stop Hate

by maydei



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Protective Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Lucifer encounter the Westboro Baptist Church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Hate

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually based off of a real protest that happened in my hometown back in '09, around the time that S5 was going on. There was some homophobia in the Samifer tag tonight, and I figured everyone could use a little angry!Lucifer to brighten their days.
> 
>  

The sun was blinding, and despite the chill of the wind, it was surprisingly warm. Sam shot a grin at Lucifer, his smile turning softer as Lucifer squeezed his hand. They were somewhere in upstate New York, a small city near the border of Canada, taking some time to investigate a local haunting (the spirit in question turned out to be harmless; just the death echo of an old woman who sometimes returned to her rocking chair). Dean hadn't considered it worth his time, and had sent Sam and _his pet angel_ to check it out in his stead (Sam knew that he just wanted some time alone with Cas; that was fine. He was sure Lucifer would appreciate a day in the colder climates, anyway).

Since the trip itself wasn't of much use, Sam and Lucifer decided to wander the town a little bit, just to pass the time. As they wandered up the main road, they saw a large group of people outside a building—what looked like one of the facilities for the local college. They shared a look; Sam shrugged. It wasn't really worth stopping or going to the other side of the road to avoid them. They didn't want any trouble (and it wasn't like anyone could hurt them). It just looked like a normal bunch of protesters.

 _Normal protesters,_ Sam thought, up until one of them spotted him and Lucifer and their joined hands and shrieked, “ _God hates fags!”_

Sam would have kept walking, but Lucifer had come to a sharp halt. Sam felt a flutter of nervousness and glanced over the number of protesters and contemplated the clean up that would be thirty slaughtered bigots.

Lucifer's head tilted to the side, his eyes bright and cold. “What did you say to me?”

“God hates fags,” the protester spat, sneering at them in disgust. “And you're going to burn in Hell, you faggots.”

Lucifer's eyes narrowed to archangel-furious slits, and he took a step forward before the tension of Sam's hold gave him pause. He looked back at his charge and back to the protesters—some group called the _Westboro Baptist Church_ —and slowly started to smile, a vicious baring of too-white teeth. “Do you want to know what God hates most?” Lucifer asked quietly.

The protester snorted; an ugly sound from a heinous man whose soul was blacker than Lucifer's tarnished Grace. “A faggot like you can't speak for God.”

Lucifer's smile widened; Sam squeezed his hand in silent warning. “Seeing as he is my Father, I think that I can,” he said, his posture shifting until he was positively oozing pride and charisma. “You see, my name is Lucifer, and I am a fallen archangel—this is my bondmate, Sam. Sam is a favorite of my Father's; in fact, Sam has been personally revived by Him several times now. As for me—long before the time of Jesus, I was cast down into Hell and contained in a cage. Sam broke me out of that Cage, and it is only for him that I've ceased in causing the Apocalypse. Remember the rain of fire? That was me. The killing of all the crops in the midwest—me. And when you are facing Hell's Gates, I assure you that it will be _I_ that wields the knife during your torture for _daring_ to speak to God's chosen Messiah in such a way. God does not hate _fags,_ but God _does_ have a small issue with ignorant bigots that intend to speak in His name.”

The man's face twisted with disgust. “You sick fuck,” he said. “I hope Satan himself gets his hands on you.”

“Luce,” Sam said warningly as Lucifer's eyes flashed bright blue with Grace. “ _Lucifer_ ,” he hissed insistently.

The man's eyes flickered to Sam and back to the furious archangel. His lip curled as he made a disgusting sound in his throat and spat directly at Lucifer's feet.

Sam inhaled sharply as he felt the flare of Lucifer's Grace sparking around them. With a flicker of prickling cold, six great shadows appeared on the pavement behind Lucifer. Stretching all the way from the sidewalk to the other side of the street were the shadows of the archangel's massive wings.

“Lucifer, you can't do this in public,” Sam said under his breath. “Someone's gonna notice.”

“Let them notice!” Lucifer snapped, turning back to look at Sam. “I won't stand for anyone speaking to us in such a way.”

“Killing him won't solve anything,” Sam replied, giving the archangel's hand a quick tug. “And punishing him makes you no better than him. He's the worst kind of person, but you gotta trust that God'll take care of it when the time comes.”

Lucifer pursed his lips furiously. “Sam—”

“Lucifer,” Sam said slowly, calmly, stepping into his space and cupping the cold curve of his cheek. Sam leaned in to kiss him once, burning and patient. He pulled away just enough to whisper, “Take me home?”

Lucifer looked over his shoulder at the man, who had paled significantly. Lucifer let out a fearsome snarl and, projecting his True Voice, directed a few choice words at the man in Enochian. The protester abruptly dropped his hateful cardboard sign and hunched over, clutching at his ears. “I won't forget this,” Lucifer said angrily. “And I suggest you pray to Sam Winchester every night for the rest of your pathetic life that you have one more night to live. If it weren't for him, you'd be a smear on the road.”

With that, Lucifer took hold of Sam's shoulders, and the two disappeared.

The protester stared. Not long after he found that he was still alive, he begged off staying to protest and headed back to his hotel room. That night as he fell to his knees to pray to God, he whispered a prayer of terror and relief in the name Sam Winchester.

He never forgot the Devil's face—it haunted him in his dreams for the rest of his life.

 

 

 

 


End file.
